


Homeless

by UlsPi



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault, But everyone is of legal age and nothing happens for a long time anyway, Falling In Love, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Homelessness, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: Jaskier runs away from his father and ends up homeless and clueless. Geralt helps him out one day and they find a home in each other. Eventually.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 161





	Homeless

One of the very few perks of being a disappointment and a lot of nonsense was that no one paid it any attention when Jaskier made it out of the mansion one evening after dinner. 

He had made a fool of himself during the meal, as usual, but his father didn't even yell at him, apparently too tired to care about his only son's behaviour anymore. Jaskier could handle anger just fine - after all, his father's anger equalled his father's attention - but the indifference was insufferable.

He packed lightly, but made sure to draw all the cash from his card at the nearest ATM. In hindsight it was perhaps the only relatively wise thing he did on that first journey. At that moment though, he was drunk on his freedom, on the fact that he could breathe the night air somewhere outside the estate or those posh boarding schools he had been continually sent to since he was six. 

He had been just as much of an annoyance to his mother, may her soul never rest, but she at least hugged him every now and then, especially when he had a fever. His nannies were far more interested in showing a  _ perfectly regular child _ to his parents to actually care about what Jaskier wanted. For example, he wanted to be called Jaskier and not Julian, let alone  _ young master Pankratz.  _

And Jaskier came into the world dreamy and optimistic. He wanted to read, to make music and to travel, and no amount of yelling and staying hungry and going to bed early could take that away from him. They didn't dare take his books or his guitar - it would have been unseemly. So they never managed to make him actually suffer for his perceived sins. 

At those posh boarding schools he was hopeless at everything that wasn't music, languages or geography, yet none of those fancy experienced teachers cared to encourage him to learn something else. They were interested, again, in producing a  _ perfectly regular child _ with  _ big expectations and potential.  _ Jaskier didn't care much, as long as he had his books and his guitar. They never had the intelligence to see that the boy had learned to survive without anything else, so he grew up in his own world, in his own dreams, having no idea whatsoever about how the world worked. No wonder his favourite book was  _ Don Quixote _ , and it was the only book he had taken with him on the road. 

His money lasted him a few weeks of staying in what he perceived to be cheap hotels, until one evening he realised he had no money left. 

He felt cold as the panic settled in his gut. He was barely 18, he had no place to go, he was in some unfamiliar town, he had left his phone behind, and even if he hadn't, he had no one to call. 

And it was getting cold and late. Wandering around the town he cursed himself for never buying a blanket or a sweater, for eating well and staying in what had proven to be quite expensive places.

He ended up in a park, on a bench, shivering with cold and trying to concentrate on the many books he had read, hopeful that he'd find a solution in one of them. 

In the morning Jaskier was nauseous with hunger and thirst, but he managed to play his guitar and earn enough to buy a bottle of water and a cup of instant noodles. The food, however poor and disgusting, was warm (Jaskier was charming, so he charmed the man in the shop into giving him some hot water), and he thought that things were looking up. 

During the day he made enough for another cup of noodles, but the night found him alone and shivering again. He successfully hid from the police: they would most likely contact his father and his father would either yell at him or ignore him, and at that point neither seemed a good option, even as he thought he was dying of cold and exhaustion. 

Jaskier did his best to save his meagre earnings during the following day, so in the evening, when he came by a thrift store, he could buy himself a thin blanket. It was pure luck that he ended up near that shop, because otherwise he'd enter the first department store on his way. 

The following day he asked the first friendly passerby - and they all seemed friendly to him - where he could go if he was homeless and hungry. The woman scrunched her nose and kept walking. 

He continued playing the guitar, but his knowledge of baroque music didn't seem to impress anyone. A guy who played Beatles - very badly - made much more money than Jaskier. 

He asked the guy to teach him a few tunes, but the guy called him an idiot and ignored him. 

It wasn't how the world was supposed to work. There had to be some kindhearted and helpful people, Jaskier couldn't have possibly been alone in the world. 

His blanket was stolen one night along with his guitar and wallet, which had been empty for a while, but still held his ID. He soon discovered he wasn't a human without one. 

The first few days of his poverty he had considered himself too proud to beg, but now he was hungry and desperate. He was still proud though, so he looked through several dumpsters and found an old and stinky winter coat. His mood improved somewhat after that. He found some food in the organic garbage container as well and even managed to eat some. It made him thirsty and sick, but it was night and all the places he could have asked for water at were closed. 

He curled on himself in some dirty alleyway. Even if he had wanted to call his father, he didn't remember his number, had never cared to memorise it in the first place. 

He drifted in and out of restless slumber until he was attacked by someone, or rather, several someones. He wasn't lucid enough to understand what they wanted, but once his pants were pulled off, he fought with everything he had. Thankfully, it was enough. 

He was hurting and bleeding, but the only thing he could think of was that his body was his last resort, the last part of him he had any control over even if he hadn't seen a proper toilet, let alone a shower, in many days. 

Sex had used to be something he was curious about, the books he had read described it so temptingly, but now Jaskier wasn't sure he'd let anyone touch him again. Not that anyone would want to touch him. He hadn't been touched with love for most of his life, but his invincible optimism led him to a conclusion that it would have been possible… Not now, though, when he was stuck as a dirty, stinking, bleeding street rat. 

He couldn't tell where he was or how long he had been wandering the streets, but he entered the first shop he consciously noticed and asked for help. 

The man behind the counter made a face of utter disgust and told him to fuck off. 

"I need help," Jaskier insisted. 

"Well, you should have thought better then, you…"

"Leave him alone, he's just a kid! What is wrong with you, people?" a gruff voice said. Jaskier looked up and saw a tall man with broad shoulders and long white hair, although the man couldn't have been older than 35. He put his load - a few packs of water bottles - on the floor and approached Jaskier. 

The man behind the counter screamed at the tall man too - but then reduced himself to quiet curses, and Jaskier understood why, as far as he was capable of understanding anything: the man had eerily yellow eyes and the look of a person that had very few friends to talk about. 

The shopkeep gathered his wits. "Fuck off, both of you! I wanted to help you, but you're all just parasites!" The shopkeep spat.

"You owe me," the yellow-eyed man grunted. 

"I owe you nothing, you worthless shit!"

"I fixed your plumbing and carried quite a few boxes in. You owe me. We had an agreement."

"We did? Want to talk to the police about that agreement?"

"I'd love to," the yellow-eyed man replied calmly. "I could tell them that you hired someone without proper paperwork."

"Well, good luck having them believe  _ you… _ " The shopkeep shut up when the yellow-eyed man left Jaskier's side and loomed over him. 

"I will take two cans of beans and a bottle of water and enough money to fill my tank. Then you'll keep your fingers and most of your bones."

The shopkeep fidgeted under the counter searching for the panic button. The yellow-eyed man grabbed his hand. "I wouldn't do that. I don't want any trouble. Just what I asked for."

The shopkeep spat again but stopped arguing. 

Jaskier watched the yellow-eyed man grab what he had asked for. The shopkeep pushed some dirty change his way and turned around. 

"Brave one, aren't you," the yellow-eyed man grunted. "Could break your neck."

He lifted Jaskier over his shoulder, complaining about the stink, and walked outside. Jaskier was tossed into a very old car.

"I… I won't… I… won't let you… I…" Jaskier began.

"Fuck! What have they done to you? Name's Geralt. You?" Geralt started the car and drove away from the shop to the nearest gas station. He kept driving after that. Jaskier was sick and had nothing to throw up with, so he just moaned at every bump. 

"Look, do you have  _ anyone _ ?" Geralt asked after some time.

"No," Jaskier sobbed. 

"Did they rape you? I have a friend at the police station here, he could help. He  _ would  _ help." Geralt looked at Jaskier through the rearview mirror.

"No. No, no, no…"

"Fuck." Geralt stopped the car and looked at Jaskier. "You're more trouble than it's worth, aren't you?.." 

Jaskier laughed bitterly. 

"You… you should head home, kid. You must have a home. You stink like shit but your clothes are expensive. Are you queer? They threw you out for it?"

"I don't know what I am," Jaskier replied meekly. "I'm cold. And hungry. I need help. I need help… please…"

"Fuck." Geralt climbed over to Jaskier and helped him to sit up. "Open your mouth." 

"No! No! I won't… I can't!.."

"Just water," Geralt's voice broke. "It's ok, kid. You're not handsome enough to tempt me."

"Mr Darcy…" Jaskier whimpered.

"Nah, I wish. You need water."

Geralt poured some water down Jaskier's throat. 

"What am I to do with you, kid? What's your name again?"

"Jaskier…"

"You're Polish?"

"My great grandma was… She… they said she loved me. Spoiled me."

"Hmmmm. Seems she was the last decent human you've met. Look, I can't… can't anyone stay in my care. I can barely care for myself. Is there anything you can do?"

"I'm hungry."

Geralt cursed again, but fetched a can of beans and shoved some food into Jaskier. "Now? Anything you can do?"

"I play the guitar. They'd stolen it. My guitar…" He let himself weep.

"Fuck. Don't cry on me, Jaskier. Please, fuck, don't cry! I can't help you! I have nothing myself…"

Jaskier couldn't listen to him anymore. He mumbled that he was sick, and Geralt barely had enough time to open the door. 

"How long haven't you eaten?"

"Don't know… I don't know…"

"Fuck."

"Do you know any other words?" Jaskier asked, wiping his mouth with an equally dirty hand. 

"Fuckity bye?"

Geralt kept driving after that. He stopped several times to ask if there were any odd jobs, and apparently there were, because by the nightfall they parked near a rundown motel. Geralt left and returned a short time after to carry Jaskier into a room. It smelled terrible, but there was a shower, where Jaskier was pushed into, a bar of soap and a razor thrust into his hands.

He wasn't sure he could make it out of the warm water on his own but he made an effort and ended up in a pile of his own limbs by the only bed. 

"I need to know. Are you on drugs?"

"No. Never tried." 

"Alright. I got you some clean clothes. Your shoes are good, so they can last you a while longer." 

Jaskier looked up to see a pile of neatly folded clean clothes. They were old but they smelled of detergent and someone's much happier childhood. 

"One of the shopkeeps on the way, she was giving away her eldest's clothes. Seemed to be fitting." Geralt explained. 

"Thank you." Jaskier took a good look at his saviour for the first time. He was devilishly handsome, although his face seemed frozen in the expression of boredom and distaste. 

"How old are you?"

"18." 

"Ok. So we can share a bed. No funny business!" Geralt raised his hands. 

Jaskier just smiled. He had forgotten how to, at least his face had, but he knew his smile was a good one, charming and disarming, so he tried it. Geralt grunted and went to look for something in his duffel bag. After a few minutes of cursing and hmming he tossed a new toothbrush and an almost empty toothpaste tube at Jaskier. 

"Brush your teeth, kid. Then you can smile without killing me."

***

In the morning Jaskier woke up to Geralt's snore. To borrow some of Geralt's vocabulary: fuck. The man was beautiful. His face was serene in his sleep, his long white hair falling over his eyes and his sharp jaw challenging the dim light to a fight. 

Jaskier shook his head and got up. 

He stumbled to the hall of the motel and was met with a very skeptical gaze from the woman sitting there. She was even more beautiful than Geralt, if it was possible, and had violet eyes. 

"What? He fucked you?" The woman asked. Jaskier looked at her name tag. 

"Yennefer!" He began cheerily. "He didn't."

"His loss," Yennefer replied smugly. "He fucked me plenty during the years… That idiot. Pity neither of us want to settle down. Anyway… you must be hungry. If you cook your breakfast, then it's free of charge."

"I can't cook," Jaskier admitted honestly. "I can't do anything. I just… I wanted to do  _ something _ ."

"You're so fucked up. No wonder Geralt picked you up… he never does, you know? Well, he'll owe me, then."

Yennefer stood up and led Jaskier to a small kitchen.

***

Geralt woke up to the smell of food. He opened his eyes and saw Jaskier beaming at him from behind a loaded tray. 

"Fuck. What did you do now? I didn't pay her enough for food." Geralt sat up and yawned. 

"She said you'd owe her."

"The last thing I want," Geralt grunted but began eating all the same. "You should eat too."

"I… I tried. I couldn't."

"Eat the toast." Geralt tossed him one. "It's pretty difficult to reject a toast."

"If I start eating, I'd be hungry again… Don't want that."

"Wanna die instead? No one will care, kid."

"You won't?" Jaskier asked.

"Fuck, you're so stupid." Geralt kept eating. Jaskier managed to finish a toast.

"You can't travel with me," Geralt said after he finished his breakfast. "I can't take you with me."

"But… I… I don't know what to do! I know I'm stupid and useless, but I have two good hands, and I bet I'm a quick learner. Please, Geralt! You saved me!"

"You're an idiot." Geralt sighed. 

***

Geralt made a semi-honest effort of driving away from the motel but Jaskier threw himself on the bumper. Apparently Geralt was stuck with him.

***

However hard Geralt tried, he couldn't help admitting that Jaskier was beautiful and beautifully stupid and reckless and in need of a friend. Geralt could be a friend. He had never been one, but he could try. He had nothing to lose after all. 

***

Jaskier was hopeless. Every single thing he touched caught on fire. Even if what he did was just to spray water over something, that something short-circuited just like Geralt's brain when he saw that stupid apologetic smile.

He decided to tell Jaskier to stay in the car and avoid touching anything, which was impossible for Jaskier, who had to fidget. Geralt got him some yarn and knitting needles, but it only ended in the softest, warmest scarf to touch his neck… Geralt hated him and hated the scarf. 

***

He didn't.

***

Jaskier came to think that his only talent and skill was to charm people, even if he hadn't had a shower for a few days. He only needed to smile bashfully and ask for a favour - and suddenly the universe was out of its way to help him. He really should have thought about it earlier.

It turned out he only needed to smile, nay,  _ smile _ once and then he could be poor and weak and wanting.

One evening Geralt got himself a job at a posh venue. Jaskier had been told to stay in the car, but he heard someone playing the guitar and sneaked in.

The performer was arrogant and far too sure of himself, so after another terrible rendition of  _ Here comes the sun _ the musician invited anyone to play on his guitar, fully expecting no one to answer, but Jaskier walked up to the stage in his worn out hoodie and baggy jeans and took the instrument.

He played some Downland as a warm up… Then he went on a mad jazz improvisation.

The devil himself couldn't have pried the guitar out of his hands. He was in his element, the music had never betrayed or refused him, and so he kept playing. 

The musician gifted Jaskier his guitar and asked to never see him again. 

Now, when Geralt was fixing this or that, when he was washing something, when he was doing whatever it was that needed doing, Jaskier played, be it a park, a restaurant, a bar, anything. 

Geralt introduced Jaskier to the advantages of public libraries (something that surprised Jaskier to no end) and internet cafes, so Jaskier had an opportunity to learn new melodies and tricks. 

Before long he was earning more than Geralt, but Jaskier's nature was such that he was sure that any comfort he had been missing, had to be the one Geralt could get too. So he spent his extra money on good soaps and creams, he'd wash Geralt's hair, he'd make sure Geralt's tools, his most prized possessions, were in the perfect state, he'd replace the ones that were beyond repair with the new ones. 

In short, Geralt's well-being quickly replaced Jaskier's needs. He remained impossibly naive and trusting, optimistic to a fault, helpless without Geralt, but it came to mean nothing when Geralt's needs were concerned. 

Jaskier discovered that Geralt enjoyed baths, so Jaskier made sure they always had one if they had enough money to stay somewhere. 

He learned that Geralt's car was his one true love, it even had a name - Roach. Therefore Jaskier invested in a custom made plate that stated that it was Roach. He saved enough to replace the upholstery of the seats, he bought them good sleeping bags. 

And throughout it all Jaskier refused to leave Geralt's side.

It was not for lack of trying on Geralt’s side. Geralt tried being rude and dismissive. He called Jaskier's playing shallow, he said Jaskier's hands were barely suited for anything, he cursed Jaskier's noises and restless sleep, he said it was difficult for him to get work when Jaskier was nearby because Jaskier was a constant nuisance - and Geralt hated himself for using the kid's trust against him. But still that naive, silly boy remained by his side, refused himself a meal if it meant fixing something in Roach. 

But most maddening, Jaskier was beautiful, tender and gentle. He never wanted anything from Geralt, not a single thing. Geralt tried testing that theory and gifted Jaskier with a notebook and a good pencil - a luxury beyond their dreams, an expense that wasn't in their books by any means, and Jaskier wept and kissed the gifts and placed a few wet kisses on Geralt's cheeks. 

Geralt was nearing forty, he had been hopeless for more than half of his life, he had traded his services for sex, money, food, anything; he considered himself hardened, petrified even, but Jaskier had none of it, Jaskier cared about him, Jaskier washed his hair…

The last one was the worst. 

How Jaskier entered the tiny bathroom, how he pulled out a bottle of expensive shampoo and another, of expensive conditioner. How he'd trim Geralt's hair after watching but a few youtube videos. How he'd hum and sing and dance around the little space they had to themselves. He never stopped talking, as if no one had ever listened to him - and Jaskier had a lot to tell: baroque music, old literature, medieval bestiaries…

"Why the bestiaries?" Geralt asked, spitting out the shampoo. "They are just a lot of nonsense, aren't they?"

"No, they are not," Jaskier replied. Geralt had never been to a fancy salon but the way Jaskier rubbed the conditioner into his scalp and hair… Oh, wasn't it lovely? Wasn't it criminally, incredibly lovely? 

"They provide us with a look at the wonders of the world even David Attenborough couldn't have given us. It makes you look at the world the way you've never cared to before… Just imagine…" Jaskier's clever fingers worked their way into Geralt's skin and hair. Geralt was in heaven. Trading his body for a roof and a meal wasn't something new to him, but Jaskier didn't seem to be interested in anything like that, and somehow the feeling was calming, comforting. 

"Your hair is so soft," Jaskier whispered above his head. "I…" And he stopped.

What was he going to say? That he wanted someone less damaged? Someone more well off? Jaskier hadn't shared much about his past, but Geralt had lived long enough to know, at least approximately, what Jaskier must have had to tell. 

He was gentle and kind. He had had no knowledge about  _ anything  _ outside of the world of the rich, of the privately owned boarding schools; he'd never known kindness or tolerance or…

Or anything. 

Jaskier must have had a peculiar but generally happy childhood. At the very least he hadn't wanted for food and warmth… But there he was, massaging Geralt's head. Geralt was so much older, so much more experienced, and had Geralt been the king of the world, had he had the world according to his will, he'd have wanted Jaskier to be a prince, to be someone far removed from every ugly, hungry thing in life. 

But he was there, massaging Geralt's scalp.

"We'll go somewhere quiet and… and good tomorrow," Geralt promised. "Maybe I'll earn enough to get us a good room."

"Long as I can be with you, it's a lovely day," Jaskier sang. That fancy, posh boy had the fingers of the… 

Geralt hadn't read enough, he thought, to make a valid comparison. 

" _ But as I walked the foggy streets alone, it turned out to be the luckiest day I've known… a foggy day in London town had me low, had me down… _ " His voice was so soft Geralt could feel it on his skin. Jaskier kept singing. He knew nothing of the economy, of anything. He was singing of love and easy romance. Geralt had never known love or romance, let alone an easy one. 

Jaskier hummed, the world was right, as right as it used to be when he had known nothing about it.

***

Most nights they spent in the car. Jaskier didn't complain and Geralt grunted about everything anyway. In the morning they set out looking for some work. Geralt didn't tell Jaskier about his life, Jaskier knew better than to ask. 

He had told Geralt everything about himself but Geralt hadn't seemed to listen. Jaskier didn't feel hurt, though. Geralt was there, Geralt… 

He was there and he was beautiful and being his friend had nothing to do with anyone but Jaskier, and that was why he played the guitar tirelessly and earned as much as he could and brought every penny he hadn't spent on Geralt, to Geralt. 

"Kid… Lark… I'm not your pimp, ok? Not your employer. Your money is yours. Treat yourself to something," Geralt said one night. 

They were lying in the back of the car, a very fancy blanket that Jaskier had bought for them, kept them warm and cozy. 

Geralt looked over at Jaskier who was humming along happily. 

_ I can see the sun up high _

_ Though we're caught in the storm _

_ I can see where you and I _

_ Could be cozy and warm _

He was beautiful, Geralt thought, he was so giddy, so excited, so happy, so  _ cozy and warm _ . The rain pitter-pattered over the rusty roof and the sun had set down a few hours before. 

"You shouldn't be here," Geralt said finally. 

"Why?" Jaskier turned to look at him. It hurt Geralt how unaffected he looked for someone who hadn't wanted for anything and then wanted for the most basic of things. 

"You belong in big houses, with lots of money and food. Being all spoilt and pampered."

"Nah, not at all. I belong here, I belong with you, Geralt," Jaskier said easily. "I belong on the road."

"You're an idiot."

"You keep calling me that, but you're saying it far too fondly," Jaskier teased. 

"You're my idiot," Geralt said without thinking. Jaskier smiled at him. 

"You know, when I was assaulted, I thought… I always wanted to have sex and I thought it would be loving and soft… I know it would be loving and soft with you. I'm not propositioning. Just… Everything is better with you, Geralt, hunger and thirst and desire and restlessness and homelessness.  _ Or were I in the wildest waste, _

_ Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, _

_ The desert were a Paradise, _

_ If thou wert there, if thou wert there. _

_ Or were I monarch of the globe, _

_ Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign _ …"

"Shut up. I'm not worthy of poems!" Geralt turned away from him. He was 19 now, he had learned so much - and none of it he needed to learn! Geralt wanted him safe and sound. Geralt wanted him far away from any trouble…

" _ I tell you I'm not asking any miracle - it can be done, it can be done. I know a… _ "

"Just shut up."

"Alright, my love. I will."

***

When that he was and a little tiny boy, Geralt moved between foster homes and never hoped for something better. 

Vesemir took him in, but Vesemir was old, so what Geralt was left with was an old car and very little money. He had had no idea what to do, so when someone barely related to Vesemir demanded the house, Geralt signed everything that had been put in front of him. He had never wanted to take someone else's place. That was how he had ended up on the road, although, unlike Jaskier, Geralt knew how to use his hands. He had learned to want for little, and he made do with the little he had or could earn.

Yennefer had been a bright spot in his life, but he couldn't be stable, couldn't be reliable. At least they remained friends. Mousesack, whom Geralt had met at one of his foster homes, became a policeman, but Geralt didn't want to catch anyone, didn't consider anybody a criminal, despite that he hardly trusted anyone… Until Jaskier, whom Geralt trusted from the moment he had laid eyes on him, because Jaskier was young and because Jaskier had suffered. No one on Geralt's watch had any right to suffer, especially not young men with big blue eyes. 

***

Their lives had been as calm as they could have been for two homeless men. Geralt hadn't noticed how a few years had passed, how Jaskier grew and became more cunning and less trusting… Geralt both welcomed and loathed the change. 

Jaskier was impossibly charming too, people sought him out, invited him to their beds - and Jaskier accepted a few of them, but he wanted warmth and care, he wanted love. There had been no force in the world to dissuade him from his optimism, his firm belief that he had the right to be loved and to fall in love. Jaskier had been both loved and in love for some time, but alas, Jaskier lacked the necessary experience to recognise it. He had learned to rely less on the books, although his  _ Quixote  _ hadn't left him.

"I believe Napoleon preferred  _ Werther _ ," Geralt remarked once. 

"He was a murderous bastard, why should I follow his example? Besides, Goethe deserves better than an old car." Jaskier winked. Geralt hated his winks, easily given and so tempting, so inviting. 

"I could break you between my finger and thumb," Geralt said one evening.

"But what of my soul, Mr Brontë?" Jaskier retorted. 

"Don't offend her memory with a masculine address. None of them." Geralt felt very protective of all three Brontë sisters. 

Jaskier laughed. Geralt hated his laughter - so silvery, so loud, so happy… Geralt wanted him to have a house with a cozy reading nook and a library. For the first time in forever Geralt allowed himself to think of a home he could have with Jaskier, which meant that he became overbearing. He wanted Jaskier safe, warm, lazy, he wanted to work so that they could share an evening together… He had just saved enough money to rent a real flat for them when Jaskier was taken. 

They came one morning, the police and the men in expensive suits, and they dragged Jaskier, kicking and screaming away from Geralt, who was told to keep quiet if he wanted to walk away from it all. They were far from Mousesack, they were far from Yennefer, and Jaskier wailed as he was being taken away, begging for Geralt to be left unharmed.

***  
  


For the first few weeks Jaskier refused food and refused to talk to anyone. 

He was whisked away to the Lettenhove estate, to his old home which had never been one. His father had died.

"He was worried about you, Julian, he hoped you'd come back," said the old family attorney. Jaskier hated her. He wanted to get back to Geralt, he wanted to get back to his real home. 

The moment he could think clearly, Jaskier fired her. He fired everyone, all the staff of the Lettenhove without any regrets. He, of course, made sure they were paid handsomely - much more handsomely than Jaskier's father had intended.

Jaskier hired a younger attorney, someone passionate and just, at least on paper. Her name was Triss Merigold, and Jaskier liked her - as much as he could like anyone. 

He went through all the paperwork with her. It turned out he was filthy rich.

Jaskier had never had any interest in his father's business, but that was before he became homeless, before he spent several years with Geralt.

Jaskier was furious with just about everyone involved with his father, so he fired everyone yet again, and he couldn't have cared less about the well-being of a dozen of lawyers and managers. Most of his money he gave away to various charities of Triss' choice. What was left of his wealth he invested into the vineyards where he had gone as a child to read. Triss warned him that it wouldn't be enough for him, and although Jaskier laughed at her bitterly, he made sure he had enough to bribe and buy everyone he might want and enough to stay at the mansion. He was determined to drive the ghost of his father mad. 

The parks and orchards surrounding the mansion were opened to the public, and so was the house. He left it to Triss to settle all the legal matters. 

"If I am to be a wealthy aristocrat, then I'm going to be the worst of them," Jaskier proclaimed. 

The new gift shop sold souvenirs from the local artists. Jaskier didn't earn a penny from the enterprise, wasting his money on what he considered right without a care. 

Any homeless person could walk into the mansion and find a bed, a meal, a shower and some money. Jaskier didn't care how it was spent. Even after giving most of his money away he remained far too rich to spare a thought about how his money was spent. 

He considered whether he should let the gamekeeper continue working on the estate, but the moment said gamekeeper said something rude about the homeless, Jaskier fired him and asked Triss to make the man's life as miserable as possible. 

In short, Jaskier was merciless and heartless. He didn't accept any reasoning other than that of Triss, and Triss mostly cared about the people who had no money and no protection. 

Some of Jaskier's father's cronies tried disputing Jaskier's decisions, but the old Pankratz died suddenly and without a will, so Jaskier had every right to do whatever he wanted. 

He did invest in their downfall, though. He made sure everyone who had dragged him away from Geralt ended up poor and wanting. 

Jaskier tasked Triss with finding Geralt, but he couldn't be traced. Mousesack had been killed on duty, and Jaskier had never cared about Geralt's last name.

The days and weeks and months went by slowly. Jaskier bought himself several guitars that he didn't want to touch. He barely left his room. 

Sometimes in the mornings he could feel the call of the old orchards, of the forest, of the vineyards, but he never wanted to answer that call. No matter how destitute the people who had dragged him away from Geralt were, Jaskier was still lonely, still without the only person he longed to see. 

He stopped trusting Triss, but was too depressed to fire her, so she remained in charge of his estate and assets, but he never wanted to see her in person. She suggested therapy, and Jaskier laughed at her. He wouldn't have needed any, he believed, had Geralt been with him. Had he been with Geralt. 

In time he began going out for long, long walks, getting lost among the trees, thinking of his lost companion, of his fragile home in the back of an old car.

He could remain unseen now, so he avoided all the campers and tourists and visitors. He didn't want to see anyone. He literally had only eyes for Geralt, and Geralt was nowhere to be seen. 

Jaskier could buy a better car and go away and look for him, but it required too much effort, while Jaskier could barely get out of bed in the morning. 

He thought sometimes that there was nothing whatsoever keeping him in that old and cold mansion, but he also thought that Geralt would want nothing to do with him. He was a posh, spoilt boy, someone who had run away looking for adventure and trouble. Geralt hadn't been enthusiastic about Jaskier's company anyway, so he shouldn't have cared about Jaskier now… After all, the people who had come for Jaskier held Geralt down.

The memory made Jaskier bite his lips and regret his existence. His father managed to make Jaskier unhappy even from beyond the grave, even after Jaskier got rid of every person who reminded him of his father. 

***

One morning he woke up earlier than usual, tired and restless. He cared nothing about the food, he could go without food for days. His bed, however comfortable it was, brought him no peace, but that particular morning it felt as if the bed had attacked him personally. 

He hopped off it, got dressed in his favourite clothes - those that Geralt had picked up for him - and went outside. He could hear the workers in the vineyards and the orchards begin their day, could hear the irrigation, the spit and spatter of the water…

He kept walking deeper into the park, until it turned into a forest, until Jaskier was lost there. 

He touched every tree on his way, remembering what Geralt had told him about the trees, about their dynamics, their lives. Geralt would always see the wood for the trees and the trees for the wood. Geralt was so smart. Geralt spoke little but always to the point. 

Geralt, Geralt, Geralt. 

Jaskier kept walking. 

A noise caught his attention. Someone was… someone was apparently hunting?.. Jaskier shook his head and went in the direction of the noise. He didn't intend to say a thing, he just wanted to see what that hunter hoped to have caught, that's all.

He walked out into a clearing - and saw Geralt crouching in the grass. The man lifted his gaze. Jaskier choked on his next breath.

"G… Geralt. Oh my… oh dear, Geralt!" He rushed to the man across the clearing and threw himself on him, sobbing and kissing every part of Geralt that was available to him. "Geralt! It's you! Fuck, it's you! I missed you so much, I… darling, I'm so sorry! I'm sorry!"

Geralt numbly hugged Jaskier back. "Jask… my little lark, my beautiful songbird. It's you… you. What are you doing here?" Geralt nuzzled Jaskier's hair, kissed his temple, held him tight, held him close. "Are you alright, little lark? What happened?"

Jaskier just shook his head. He couldn't speak, but Geralt was there, he was there, he smelled so good, smelled of home and travels and adventure - and home. Jaskier was home, because somehow in the midst of his forest there was Geralt.

For a while they stood there, holding to each other and whispering absolute nonsense into each other's ears. 

"What happened, little lark? I was so worried… did they hurt you? Did they harm you?"

Jaskier kept crying but he shook his head to assure Geralt that no one had tried to hurt him, which wasn't exactly true, but at least no one hurt him the way Geralt was afraid of.

"Darling… oh my darling, I'm so glad to see you! You're in… this… this is  _ my  _ forest." Jaskier grinned up at Geralt.

"Your forest?"

"Yes! It's Lettenhove. It's my estate. It used to be my father's, but the old bugger died and… and they found me and brought me here." Jaskier frowned. "I fired them all, darling, and I'm sorry, but Mousesack is dead. Died on duty. I'm so sorry, darling…"

Geralt barely registered what Jaskier had been saying, but those sweet lips moved so beautifully, Geralt couldn't resist and leaned in to kiss Jaskier. 

The younger man moaned into Geralt's mouth. "Darling… I… there's such a good bath waiting for you, Geralt. Such a good bath! Come, come with me, darling. Wait… where's Roach?"

"She's just outside the forest. Hid her…"

"Oh, there was no need for it, my love… Geralt!" Jaskier held Geralt's head in his hands and looked at him adoringly. "Take me to her, please. Take me home."

Geralt grabbed Jaskier's hand and tugged him along. 

"I… ehm… killed a couple of rabbits here," Geralt confessed on the way.

"It's alright, darling, I opened it to the general public and allowed… everything." 

"I didn't take them with me, though."

"Well… let's drive there. We'll pick up the rabbits and we'll cook them. It's alright. I have plenty of vegetables, and it'll be so delicious. And the bath… did I mention the bath?" Jaskier kept rambling, Geralt kept looking at him. 

***

When they arrived at the mansion, Geralt took in the old, sprawling building. 

"It's practically Brideshead," he remarked. He showed no intention of getting out of the car.

"Is it? I suppose it is… I live in that wing." Jaskier pointed to the right. "Just… just one room on the third floor, close to the roof."

"And the rest?" Geralt asked, unable to take his eyes off of the house. 

"I'll tell you everything. Please… please come with me."

"Why would you bring me here, Jask? I have no place here. Too big and…"

Jaskier pressed a finger to Geralt's lips. 

"This is my place. We… I want to give you everything I have."

"I only need you," Geralt whispered, looking aside. 

"You have me. Let's go inside."

There was a note on the door saying that anyone was welcome and asking only to leave the place welcoming enough for the next person. There was Triss' phone too, the note stated she could help with anything. 

"Who's Triss?" Geralt asked.

"She's in charge of… everything basically. I think she had set her office in that tower. She's a good person… I've been an arse to her recently." Jaskier shook his head and tugged Geralt along. 

"Lark, this place is dead," Geralt said. "So much dust… so cold. Fuck."

"I'll clean everything, I promise."

***

They made it upstairs, Jaskier pulling Geralt along all the time. Geralt couldn't quite focus on the stairs, distracted by the house and its owner. 

In the biggest bathroom Geralt had ever seen, Jaskier fussed all over him, helped him out of his clothes, while the bath was filling, poured every possible oil and soap into the water, making Geralt scrunch his nose.

"Jask, it's so smelly in here, and it's not all me."

"You always smell lovely."

"They had hit you on the head after all."

"What did they do to you, Geralt?" Jaskier sharply turned to him. 

"To me? Nothing. Made sure you were gone and let me go. I tried going after you…"

"I tried looking for you. What's your last name, love?" 

"Rivia."

"Good. Good to know. I like it. Yes." Jaskier gestured at the bath and turned around to give Geralt some privacy. "Can I… can I wash your hair?"

"I'd love that, lark."

"You never called me that before… Not complaining!"

Geralt shrugged. "You were my lark. I woke up to you. You always moved like one too… Fast and a bit frantic… but beautiful." Geralt leaned into Jaskier's touch. 

"Will you stay with me?" Jaskier asked, gently untangling the mess Geralt's hair was in. 

"Not my place. Doesn't feel… right. Who am I to stay in a grand mansion?"

"You're… you're Geralt. Can I go with you, then?"

"Little lark, you have a house. You can make it into home… You know what?" Geralt opened his eyes to look up at Jaskier. "You're a stubborn man, and I… I want you to be happy. I can stay here."

"Could help me with the house," Jaskier beamed at him. 

"Using me as usual."

"Sure."

For a few minutes they were silent; Jaskier finished washing Geralt's hair and added some hot water into the tub. He moved over to the opposite edge of the bath and crouched there, looking at Geralt. 

"You kissed me."

"I did. Should have asked." Geralt shifted, as if uncomfortable. 

"You can always kiss me. I dreamed about you kissing me."

"Hmmmm."

"I take it you dreamed about it too."

Geralt sat up, splashing the water and foam around and cupped Jaskier's face in his wet hands. "Of course I did, little… idiot."

"Then I'm very glad you're staying," Jaskier whispered, leaning closer and kissing Geralt. "Can you sleep with me too? Any way you want."

"Was cold without you all the time. Roach feels so much… emptier without you."

They kissed again. 

"You're wearing that shit I brought you…"

"I am. My favourite clothes."

"They are falling apart, little lark."

Jaskier just smiled and quickly undressed himself. 

"Fuck," Geralt said under his breath. 

"You're getting out or I'm getting in?" Jaskier made a step forward. 

"Sure you want it? With me?"

"Never wanted it with anyone else. Well, wanted with a couple of people who looked a bit like you. It's cold out here, darling."

"Get in then." Geralt opened his arms.

***

Eventually they had to leave the bed. Jaskier wanted Triss to meet Geralt, so there was a lot of pulling along and tugging again, passing by a few people who had found refuge in the house and barely acknowledged the happy couple. There were plenty of stairs and some very abandoned and cold halls. 

Triss' office on the other hand, was the only cozy place in the whole house. It wasn't exactly an office, more like a flat Triss had organised for herself when she moved in.

"Oh, you found him!" Triss exclaimed when she saw Jaskier and Geralt walk in. Geralt felt uncomfortably big. And he was sure he had a lot of hickeys. 

"He found me," Jaskier gazed at Geralt. "Geralt, this is Triss. Triss, this is Geralt. As my… Geralt, he has full control over everything I own if I still own anything."

"Jask, no, you…"

"I can't marry you, guys, that you'll need to sort out… or rather I'll do everything to make sure it happens."

"Oh, I'd love that!" Jaskier even hopped. "Would you, darling?"

"Not proposing to you in front of your lawyer," Geralt grunted and blushed. 

"I was the one proposing but you make sense."

"Hmmm."

Triss stealthily wiped tears from her eyes. 

***

In Jaskier's dreams, he and Geralt spent most of the time in bed, but Geralt wanted to work, wanted to make Jaskier's house into a proper place. Jaskier had no other option than to follow Geralt around as he fixed and cleaned everything. He took one of his guitars with him and played for Geralt as he was working. Gradually, the inhabitants of the house started to gather around - to ogle at Geralt, per Jaskier's opinion, and to listen to Jaskier, per Geralt's conviction. 

It was Jaskier of course. However handsome Geralt was, Jaskier had always been a siren, bright and cheery and otherworldly and maddening and loving. 

To Geralt's increasing discomfort, he suddenly had plenty of help. He wanted to make at least a part of the endless place into a home, give it his heart, whatever was left of it after he had given it to Jaskier. Triss reasoned that many of those people kept returning to the house and some stayed for months, tried looking for a job, with which Triss was always ready to help.

Geralt decided he'd dedicate his efforts to the trees then. Jaskier suggested he'd go to study forestry, but Geralt refused. He also grunted that if Jaskier wanted him out of his sight, he could just say so. 

"I'd go anywhere with you, Geralt. If you want I will get a degree too."

In the end, though, everyone stayed where they were.

***

Ciri's parents had nothing to do with her grandmother's ruthless and more than a little shady business dealings. Ciri wasn't sure she had even known how dangerous her grandmother was. She was a bit scary and totally awesome, of this Ciri had been certain. She didn't listen to the adults' conversations, but she could testify that her mother became increasingly worried. 

That night, after much arguing, Ciri's mother agreed to the grandma's pleadings and said they'd leave in the morning instead of, as Pavetta wanted, late in the evening, immediately after dinner. Perhaps Calanthe regretted it as she was trying to save her family from the fire. 

It began somewhere after midnight. Then someone broke the windows and soon the fire was everywhere. Calanthe first came to Ciri and told her to leave and run. Ciri was sleepy and scared, barely understanding what had been happening and asking about her parents. Calanthe promised to take care of everything and find Ciri as soon as she could. One of Calanthe's bodyguards dragged the girl outside through the flames. As they ran towards the road, someone shot the bodyguard. Ciri was too terrified to stop running, but decided to run into the forests. 

Behind her, although she couldn't hear it, a voice said:

"We should follow her into the forest."

"First, not killing kids," replied the second voice. "Second, I'm not going into the Lettenhove forests. The new forester is a fucking monster."

"Scared of a forest keeper, aren't you?"

"He's six feet tall, strong as a bear and tossed us out of the forest saying we were  _ shady _ . He literally tossed us out on the road. Not messing up with him."

"You're a coward."

"No, I just don't want to piss off the young owner of this land. He had everyone who had ever hurt him turned into dust."

"Coward."

There was a muffled shot.

"Not so much," the second voice concluded. 

***

Ciri kept running until dawn. She was delirious with exhaustion and cold, her feet hurt, she had lost her slippers somewhere along the way, but was too scared to stop running. As the sun rose higher she became aware of her pain and of her surroundings. No one was chasing her as far as she could tell, and she was lost. 

She sat on the ground and cried. At first she was afraid to let out a noise, but her emotions quickly overwhelmed her and she wailed.

"Hey, what… fuck!" 

Someone came closer. Ciri didn't dare look up and couldn't stop crying.

"Hey, little cub… you're obviously lost and not alright. May I… may I take somewhere warm?" The low, growling voice said with as much care as was apparently possible for the owner of the voice. 

Ciri looked up. 

"Hey," the man said again. He was crouching a few feet away from her. "I'm Geralt. I'm a forest keeper here. Do you… hmm… fuck!" Geralt stood up and took several steps back. "I'm rubbish with words and comfort… although my husband says otherwise. He owns the place. Wait." Geralt pulled his phone out of a pocket and made a call. "Sorry to wake you up, little lark… Love… love… I couldn't sleep and didn't want to wake you… Yes, I'll never do that again, but will you let me… Jask, there's a girl here, about twelve, I guess, and she's distressed and I can't… don't know… thank you, lark. I love you too." Geralt looked at Ciri again. "So… you must be thirsty. And cold. And hungry. Here." Geralt took off his coat and offered it to the girl. "I know I'm scary, I know. Little lark doesn't think so, though… Well, he's an idiot, you know?"

Ciri found herself giggling. "My parents never talk to each other like that. My grandma, though, she talks to my grandpa like that…" Ciri burst out crying again. 

"Oh… ehm… hmmm… fuck. You… you want a hug?" Ciri shifted closer to Geralt. He patted her back gently. "I know it… it all sucks. It'll be better when Jask is here, I'm sure," he told Ciri. "What's your name?"

"Ciri."

"Ciri. Good. Nice name."

With a lot of screeching Roach stopped by them and Jaskier jumped out of it. He was dressed in blue, had awful bed hair, was so sweet… Geralt thought of holding him but the girl had to take the precedence. 

"Oh dear, my girl, I brought you a blanket, and we are here to help you…"

"We?" Geralt asked.

Triss climbed out of the car - and vomited on the other side of it. 

"Rookie," Jaskier chided. 

***

All three spent some time talking with Ciri. She was wrapped in at least three blankets, had a cup of warm chicken soup in her hands and, unlike with the most adults she had come by, those three listened to her. Jaskier gasped a lot and at some point had to pull Ciri into a bear hug, then Jaskier and Ciri were pulled into a bear hug by Geralt. Triss chose this moment to start clarifying things with the police. 

Ciri stayed in Lettenhove, of course. Jaskier, Geralt and Triss sat with her during all the interviews with the detectives. She was the key - and only - witness in a very loud case. She had lost her entire family - but immediately got a new one, not that she accepted it easily. The following year was a very hard one, but by the end of it Jaskier and Geralt adopted her, with her full approval. 

Yennefer joined them at a certain point. 

And swept Triss off of her feet, so for the first time in many years Triss appeared to be unavailable to deal with Jaskier's business, lost in the flurry of her passionate affair, which would explain why Jaskier bought a luxurious and entirely ridiculous camper van… 

Geralt actually loved it a lot, although of course it couldn't compare to Roach. 

They went to the coast together, got away for a while. Jaskier homeschooled Ciri, Geralt taught her to fish and fix things and drive the van, to Jaskier's delight and horror. 

They all had a home. They all, each of them, were a home. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for being here. Toss a kudo/comment to the writer, but no pressure, some ale will do too.


End file.
